Fancy A Go?
by wardedportal
Summary: Vimes can't deny her. He never could. -- Vimes/?, HET, Romance, 1796 words --


"Fancy a shag?"

Captain Vimes reached the end of Dumbstruck Lane and turned back to look at the young woman standing in the doorway. "My socks don't need darning, thanks."

She had hair as red as a palace guard's coat, and a lopsided smirk that made him want to check that his pockets hadn't been picked.

"No, love," she drawled. "If I'd wanted to darn your socks, I would have asked you. And besides, you're a copper. You can't afford to have your socks darned."

"I'm not that hard up, miss. You'd best be getting back to the Guild House. Wouldn't want Mrs. Palm to think one of her girls was skimming."

She laughed, and Vimes stood transfixed. She crossed the street to where he was standing, curling a lock of red hair between her fingers and grinning at him. "Again. You misunderstand me. Samuel."

She walked away from him, past the Lucky Thirteen Fish Shop and turned down the thin alley beyond it. He found his feet following of their own accord.

"How d'you know my name?" he called into the shadows.

"Badge 177," she singsonged, her voice still moving away from him.

His hair stood on end. This wasn't the Shades, so he doubted there would be anyone lying in wait for him around the corner, but this was Ankh-Morpork and he was no fool. He edged along the walk, one hand on his truncheon. "And?"

"And Sarah Pickerson said you had strong hands."

"Sarah's a seamstress."

"Yes, and she says you never dabble in seamstresses. Something about not indulging the guild system? She said you were political."

"I am not," he called. Her voice had gotten more distant and he pressed to keep up with her. The alley ended in a sharp corner, leading down an even more claustrophobic passage.

"She said you were tense too. In need of a good hard shag."

Vimes had nothing to say to that.

"I need a good hard shag, Captain. You think you could oblige me?"

He rounded the corner and followed few paces, listening to the sound of her voice echo off the brick walls. "I don't even know your name."

"Doesn't matter," she whispered, and Vimes turned to the sound of her voice in the niche beneath the fire escape.

"Does to me," he answered.

"Alright," she said. He could hear the smile in her voice. He heard a rustle of fabric and saw a flash of pale white thigh. "But you have to call it out when you come."

"What makes you think..."

Her hand latched onto the side of his breastplate and tugged him into darkness. "You don't have to take this off, but I think you'd enjoy it more if you did."

"Unhand me, woman." His voice didn't sound convincing even to his own ears. His nose twitched. She smelled like fresh bread. It made his mouth water.

She laughed again, catching his hand and drawing it to her breast. "Mmm, Samuel," she purred. "You do have strong hands."

"Madam, I -- You must be mistaken." he backpedalled into the alley, turning toward the light and forcing his feet to carry him back out to the street.

Her sultry laugh hung in his ears for the rest of the night.

* * *

He was on patrol with Carrot when he saw her again outside the Street of Small Gods. She didn't call him by name but the look she gave him made him feel like the last treacle filled truffle on the plate.

Even more strange was the fact that Carrot didn't know her name.

He'd gone to bed that night with an aching erection. He'd refused, on principle, to have done with it.

* * *

"Fancy a shag?"

Vimes dropped his keys. They clattered on the wooden planks as they fell down the stairs and landed at her feet. He stood at the top of the back steps of the Watch House, a sack of laundry at his feet, glaring at her. "Not unless you tell me your name."

"Really?" Her eyebrows rose. "Won't the Guild get angry if that's all you charge? Undercutting their prices and all?"

Vimes huffed and held his hands out for the keys. She picked them up, giving him a truly spectacular view down the front of her dress.

He was pale and trembling by the time she got to the top of the steps. She handed them back to him with that infuriating smirk. "Someday you'll say yes," she purred, standing up on her tip toes to leave a chaste kiss on his cheek.

* * *

Sgt. Colon knocked on the door of his office and coughed. Vimes grunted at the door.

"Sir, I know you told me not to disturb you --"

Colon eyed the unopened bottle of Bearhugger's on the desk and the drifts of paperwork that swirled around it. "Fred, this had better be --"

"There's a young lady here to see you. And she says it's urgent."

"Really. Is she on fire?"

"Well, no. But --"

"If she's not on fire, it's not urgent. Tell her to come back tomorrow."

Colon stood fidgeting in place. "Erm..."

"What is it, Fred? Spit it out."

"She's not wearing any clothes, sir."

"I'm sorry?"

"Well she is, sort of. Kind of a long coat, goes down to the ground, ties round the waist."

"That's not exactly..."

"Well underneath."

"Underneath?"

"She's got nary a stitch."

"How would you know, Fred?"

"Erm, she showed me?"

Vimes closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. After a long moment, he muttered to himself, "Well, at least she's not a Vampire."

"You know, she's really quite a looker, Captain. If you want the rest of the night off..."

"No. Tell her to go away and not come back."

"Captain?"

"Sergeant, I have _work_ to do. Work? You remember work?"

"Yes, sir. I'll tell her, sir." Colon looked at him like he'd announced he was going to follow in Bloody Stupid Johnson's footsteps.

Vimes waved him off. As soon as the door to his office was closed, he picked up the bottle of Bearhugger's, walked to the window, uncorked the bottle, and poured it down the rain gutter.

* * *

Somewhere a gargoyle got lucky.

* * *

"Fancy a shag?"

It had been weeks since her last visit and the last place he expected to see her was standing in the mist under one of the hippos in the middle of Brass Bridge.

"You don't give up, do you?"

"Well?" She was huddled against the fog, her curls fallen and hanging around her face, the thin fabric of her chemise doing nothing to hold out the wet. She looked miserable.

He looked out at her from beneath his helmet, water dripping off the brim, chewing on a cheap cigar. "Slow night?"

She scowled at him. "The Assassin's Guild is having their annual ball, someone dropped a barrel of Einar's Extricating Oil in the Street of Cunning Artificers, the Patrician is entertaining a delegation from Quirm, the Thieves Guild is on strike from dusk until dawn -- I think they're just skiving off, personally -- and other than that?" She shifted, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at the sky. "Other than that, the Gods seem to be occupied with other things and Ankh-Morpork is resting as easy as she every does."

"Nothing going on at the University?" His tone was half-sarcastic, but then, his tone was always half-sarcastic.

She cocked her head, listening. "The Dean is having a bath, which means they're cranking up that damned boiler unit again, which is always good for a laugh."

"What about --"

"I'm here with you, Sam."

"Just how do you know me, anyway?"

She laughed, a dry, almost defeated sound. "How do I know you, let me count the ways. I've only fished you out of the gutter three or four hundred times. You've had your," she closed her eyes and a strange, transcendent expression came over her features, "supple soles all up and down my cobbles for years. You've scrabbled over my rooftops, slid down my rain pipes, run up and down and over and through the darkest of my alleys and my cellars. Mmm." She savored the memory as if it were the best feast she'd ever eaten.

Vimes could think of nothing to say to that. He made a vain attempt to try to light his cigar while she went on.

"Carrot, he's thorough. He walks everywhere, and pays attention to everyone. But he's -- above us, somehow. Here." She cupped her hands around the end of his cigar as he tried the third match.

It caught and he puffed.

"You, you're -- different," she whispered. She huddled back further from the dripping fingers of fog sucking at her clothes.

Vimes squinted at her, bedraggled, cold, clearly a bit put out. He reached up beneath his chin and undid the clasp of his cloak, giving it a good shake before wrapping it around her shoulders. "You shouldn't be out in this weather."

"Neither should you. But here you are." She looked at him as he tugged the fabric under her chin. "Sam."

He knew when she said his name that the last thing in the world he should do was look into her eyes, but he couldn't help himself. They were grey green in the gloom, and easily the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. "I shall call you Annie," he murmured.

"Annie," she echoed. "I like that." Her hand came up to touch his cheek. Her fingers were freezing.

"Do you have somewhere to get in out of this?"

"Oh sure," she said. "Havelock keeps a room for me just down the hall from his."

Vimes swallowed hard.

"Kidding! I've never even met the man. Truth is, he scares me a little."

"He knows how you work," Vimes ventured to guess.

"Yes, well. If I want to get buggered, I'll go to him."

That got a dry bark of a laugh out of Vimes.

They were huddled close now, shielded from the worst of the fog between the knees of the great hippo. She rested her hands and then her cheek on the cold smooth metal of his breast plate. He wrapped an arm around her and patted her shoulder. She sighed contentedly.

When he finally spoke, there was no one more astonished than he was at the words he uttered. "Fancy a shag?"

She laughed. "Thought you'd never ask."

* * *

_Thank you for taking the time to read. Please take another moment to review. It's the only form of payment a fanfic author is allowed to accept. My eternal gratitude. WP_


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